


Dinner that Begins with Dessert

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Always Been a Pencil [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Past Abuse, discussion of attempted fratricide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: They have an unusual honeymoon.





	Dinner that Begins with Dessert

**Author's Note:**

> I had a few scene ideas that didn't make it into the first story. This first one was longer than anticipated, so it gets to stand alone.

If he’s being honest (most wouldn’t believe it, but Jaime did try to be honest most of the time) he had only fallen in love once in his life. There was no need to fall in love with Cersei when their hearts had formed mere inches apart and he sailed into life minutes behind her. They were together against the world from the very beginning. Loving her wasn’t something he did, it was something that he was. Even now, he suspected that they would leave the world the same way they had come into it, minutes apart and screaming. 

Hopefully that was just his dramatic side talking, but he was being honest and part of him would never fully detach from the way she defined his life. 

The point though was that he had only fallen in love once. With his wife, to be clear. Brienne in all her ridiculous glory standing guard over his little brother behind a bar, her hair in shambles and her thin lips in a scowl. It had taken him some time to place her distinctive face, to remember her in the ring taking down a man with an ego far larger than his skill. She had been formidable in her time and even just in her efforts to protect Tyrion from his misplaced wrath, she radiated a casual menace that set up the hairs at the back of his neck. 

She was truly the most interesting woman alive. He’d fallen in love with her skill, with the way she moved when she wasn’t worried about people watching her. He loved how she would huff at him, taking him seriously when everyone else wrote him off. She took him at his word and held him to it. 

Trying to take a bullet for him had been excessive, but he figured they might just be an excessive kind of couple despite Brienne’s thin veneer of pragmatism. 

Anyway, all of that was to say that he loved her and he wanted very much to make sure that their honeymoon was special. And to his great chagrin, that meant he should probably check in with Tyrion. 

“Run this by me again?” Tyrion was ensconced on the couch in the living room of the Tarth house. 

“It’s not conventional,” he cleared his throat. 

“You want to take her to a week in the back of beyond to learn how to fight with archaic weapons and camp. As a honeymoon.” 

“It’s not camping. There’ll be cabins with running water. Just a lot of communal eating and being outside. There’s some hot springs nearby that are open for use too.”

“It sounds like a nightmare. She’ll probably love it.” 

“You think so?” 

“Please,” Tyrion rolled his eyes. “She’s a gigantic nerd about beating people up and so are you. You’ll probably have the time of your lives. Because you’re nerds, just to be clear.” 

“You take my son to Magic tournaments and watch superhero movies on loop.” 

“Takes one to know one.” 

Jaime booked the tickets and then mostly forgot about it. There was day to day life which could be overwhelming all on it’s own (he would never ever admit to Brienne how many ordinary life tasks he had to Google because he’d never had to dust a curio cabinet or wash delicates before. She probably knew anyway, but she was kind enough never to say anything). Add into that wedding preparations, even for a very low key wedding, and it was easy to set aside. 

“Should we have a honeymoon?” she asked carelessly during one of their morning runs. 

“Yes,” he said quickly. “I’m taking care of it.” 

“You are?” she glanced at him. “All right, I’d rather not plan something else anyway.” 

The wedding was perfect. Jaime tried not even to think about it too often because he was worried taking the memory out would dull the shine of it. He’d been certain for years that he’d never marry, that he would live a life of a secret lover and that didn’t come without regrets. To stand before his children and brother and Brienne’s ridiculous bevy of friends and promise to love her was one of the easiest things he’d ever done. 

“You’re sure you’ll be all right with him?” Jaime asked at the reception.

“Of course,” Tyrion looked offended, “we’re going to have a grand time. Rowan even wants to swing by and have some cousin bonding time. There was talk of a horse rescue visit.” 

“Don’t let me kid get bitten by a horse.” 

“I think you should be more worried about the Tyrells teaching my niece wild notions,” he shrugged. 

Myrcella had been thrilled when Loras had agreed to take her for a week even though Renly was away doing...whatever it was Baratheons did. Jaime didn’t pay that much attention. But apparently Margaery had taken a shine to Myrcella and between her and Loras and the rest of Highgarden, she’d be fine for five days. Probably. 

It was such a strange privilege to worry about them like that. 

“How should I pack?” Brienne asked the next day, flipping her suitcase open. 

“Mostly outdoors in warm to hot weather with some cool nights,” he had already stowed his own case in the car two days before, pleased at his forethought and was now realizing he’d forgotten half a dozen things that he was stashing in her bag. “A bathing suit or two.” 

“Anything...fancy?” she asked carefully. 

“No,” he snorted. “Would I do that to you? Just whatever's comfortable.” 

“Okay,” she breathed out. “Margaery brought me all this weird lingerie-” 

“Bring that,” he said quickly. “All of whatever that is.”

“I don’t understand why you care when you see me naked or in gym shorts all the time.” 

“Why do you like it when I wear the one black tank top?” 

“I do not-” she caught herself. “Fine. It goes in, but I might not wear it.” 

“That’s fine. If you want, I can wear it.” 

She laughed, her loud snorting wonderful laugh and he delayed their packing by toppling her down onto the bed. 

He drove there while she napped. It had taken a while to adjust, but with an automatic, driving mostly one handed wasn’t awful. Rolling down the windows while passing lush forest was its own reward. 

There were temporary signs up, pointing the way to a clearing with a semi-circle of cabins poised around a firepit. There were other cars pulled up already, people spilling out and talking animatedly. 

“Are we here?” she stretched in her seat, blinking curiously out. 

He left her to stretch and find a bathroom while he checked in. A smiling young man took his information with seemingly no recognition of him, “Tarth and Lannister?” 

“That’s us,” he agreed. 

“Great! You’re in cabin 5. Dinner will be by the grill behind this building at 6. Here’s a copy of the schedule for the next few days, your cabin keys, and a map of the area if you want to go exploring.” 

Jaime took the packet, signed the proffered guestbook with his awkward slanting new signature. When he got back outside, Brienne was surrounded by a threesome of young woman with brightly dyed hair. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t sue them!” One of them was saying earnestly, “You were the best fighter ever!” 

“She still is,” Jaime put in. Brienne gave him a wild look. 

“You’ll have to show us!” The one with the pink hair smiled brightly. “Wow, I can’t believe you’re here, that is just so cool.” 

“And now we have to unload the car,” Jaime put his hand to the small of Brienne’s back, guiding her. “But I’m sure we’ll see you at dinner.” 

They nodded in technicolor unison then scattered. 

“They recognized me,” Brienne said a little dazed. “But not from anything recent. Just the MMA days. Isn’t that strange?” 

“Wife,” and wasn’t that a pleasure to say? “Anyone that follows MMA knows who you are, you’re a literal legend.” 

“No, I’m not. I never even went National, not really.” 

“Right, of course,” he watched her lift their suitcases out of the trunk, including the one he’d over stuffed without showing an inch of actual effort. “Just happenstance. Very strange. Maybe rabid fans or something.” 

“So this is a retreat for MMA enthusiasts or something?” she headed for the cabin once he’d pointed the way. 

“No,” he swung his duffel bag carelessly. “It’s a sword fighting camp.” 

“A...what?” she stopped dead. 

“Sword fighting camp,” he repeated with a grin. “Expert swordsman-swordspeople? Are going to teach us how to use medieval weaponry. Not just swords actually. There’s some archery and they said something about maces, but I missed that part-” 

She was kissing him, very firmly and he stopped talking. 

“So, good choice?” He guessed. 

“I thought maybe you’d found some bizarre couple’s nudist retreat or something,” she admitted. “This is so much better.” 

Their cabin was simple, but clean and the bed was comfortable. Jaime lay on it until she tossed his suitcase on his legs while she went on unpacking her own. The chest of drawers accommodated most of their things. 

“We’re in the woods and you brought all your hair products?” She looked at the counter top of the small sink. 

“There’s never an excuse for me to deliver you less than my best.” 

“This is your best?” She tilted her head in a disturbingly familiar way. “I think I want a divorce.” 

“I think a break from Tyrion is really the best thing for you,” he narrowed his eyes. “He’s a bad influence.” 

It was still light out when they joined everyone else at the grill. There were large picnic tables gathered around. Their fellow attendees ranged in age though they skewed younger and there were slightly more men than women. Otherwise, it was a hodgepodge of humanity. The rainbow haired girls had gained a few spindly young male attachments. They waved eagerly at Brienne. 

“We could sit somewhere else,” he whispered. “Or just take food back to our rooms.” 

“That would be rude,” she frowned and instead went to sit with them. 

To his surprise, the women seemed to have gotten their fawning out of their system and had just gamely accepted Brienne into their group. They chatted about why they were there (they all worked at their local Renaissance Faire and wanted to have a greater versatility in their roles, they’d apparently come before for other camps on blacksmithing and weaving), the best way to handle breakfast (get up early, take extra rolls to snack on or there was no food around until lunch), and who might take the most ‘naturally’ to the swordplay tomorrow morning. 

The men were talking about a movie that Jaime had never seen, so he ignored them in favor of his hamburger, listening as Brienne was slowly drawn out to offer commentary on a variety of topics. 

“We brought stuff for s’mores,” Blue said. They’d probably said their names, but Jaime had already dubbed them Pink, Blue, and Orange, as a collective The Colorguard. “If you want to join us?” 

Brienne looked to Jaime who shrugged, “If you want to. Never had one.” 

“You’ve never had a s’more?” Orange’s mouth gaped open. “How?” 

“I’ve lived a sheltered life,” he said very dryly. 

“”It’s true,” Brienne smiled, his second favorite one, where it was just the edges of her lips suggesting some deeper amusement. “Like a princess in a fairy tale, locked up in a tower.” 

“And my lady knight to save me,” he smiled at her and ignored the The Colorguard awwwing over it. 

S’mores were a horrible mess, but he could mostly use his injured hand to hold blocky objects, so that his good hand remained free of stickiness. 

“We could make these on a grill night,” he mentioned to Brienne. He was leaning heavily against her. “The kids would like them.” 

“Probably,” she took a small bite of hers, but he guessed it was too sweet for her palette. “Should we try to call them tonight?” 

“I might have promised that we would call Tommen and equally promised Myrcella that we’d leave her alone unless she called us first.” 

When they called, Tommen turned out to be far too busy to talk to them. Uncle Tyrion had apparently bought Little Big Planet 3 and a PS4 to play it on. 

“For the nights I’m downstairs and can’t entertain him,” Tyrion explained. “Or he could read. But he doesn't seem interested on the complete history of Westeros for some reason. I think Volume 4 has some compelling information about trading.” 

“I packed him his own games,” Jaime huffed and not at all because he’d been planning to get a PS4 for Tommen’s birthday. 

“My week to play spoiling uncle,” Tyrion crowed. “Have a nice time beating each other with sticks! Say good night Tommen.” 

“Good night!” 

“Ty-” 

“Say goodnight Jaime.” 

“Good night. Don’t let my kid get bitten by a horse.” 

“Good night, Brienne. Please feel free to lose my brother in the woods.” 

Jaime ended the phone call and Brienne elbowed him, “Are you actually upset?” 

“Not really, I guess. It’s just...I haven’t actually been away from them since they started living with us. All those years apart, you’d think I’d be used to it.” 

“It’s different now,” she shrugged. 

Everything was different, Jaime thought later as he curled himself against her back, his mouth against her shoulder. She snored in a very quiet way, a wheeze of the nose more than anything else. 

Their morning instructor was a giant. He had an enormous red beard and bright eyes. 

“You can call me Tormund!” he boomed. He hefted up an enormous broadsword casually. “Today we learn how to hold a weapon and if you’re lucky, maybe hit something!” 

There was a ragged cheer and wooden training weapons were handed out. Brienne hefted hers up thoughtfully, turning it in her hands and then twisting it through her fingers in a elegant arch. 

“The woman knows how to check her weapon!” Tormund crowed. “Step up, you’ll be my example.” 

Brienne took her place in front of the class easily enough. There she was comfortable after so many years of teaching and she stayed loose and ready. Jaime noticed Tormund noticing her and smirked. Let the man look and want. He nearly respected it, too many men looked at her and let their eyes slide by. 

“Right foot forward!” Tormund barked. 

After that it was just like any training session Jaime had ever been through. He had learned to use a knife from a cagey man employed by his father to teach him and Cersei dancing. The sword wasn’t too different. He couldn’t manage a two-handed grip, but he was strong enough to manage with one. 

When Tormund reluctantly returned Brienne to the line, she was sweating and the usual harshly brushed back hair was a riot of tendrils. 

“Team up!” Tormund ordered. “Let’s see you spar.” 

“What do you think, wife?” he held up his blade. 

“I think if you pay attention you might get a hit in.” 

She moved fast and hit hard. Jaime was grinning from the first moment, blocking and dancing away from her blows. He barely had a moment to strike his own and his wrist was already aching a little with the effort. 

“Hey!” Pink called out. “Switch with me!” 

He frowned, but had to concede that a lighter weapon would help, so he tossed his blade to her. She handed him the lighter sword and he was back in action. There were other people practicing around them, but he quickly tuned them out. Everything narrowed to her and their blades. 

At last, she got the better of him, the wooden point snaking up to gently rest at his throat. 

“You win,” he said brightly. And all around them applause broke out. They both looked up in surprise. 

Apparently everyone had stopped their bouts to watch them. Tormund was looking skeptically at Jaime. 

“Guess the two of you are nearly evenly matched,” was all he actually said. “Lunch time!” 

There was a cold spread at the picnic tables. The Colorguard had apparently given the shove to the boys from the night before and had increased their number with a motherly figure who was merrily knitting away. 

“That was amazing!” Orange clapped Brienne on the arm. 

“We’re learning just like everyone else,” Brienne demurred, but she looked very pleased with herself. 

“How long have you two been together?” Pink asked. 

“Two and a half years,” Jaime supplied. 

“We were friends for awhile before.” 

“Then she tried to step in front of a bullet for me. Very romantic.” 

“Stop telling people that,” she grumbled. 

“Never,” he kissed her cheek and the Colorguard ‘awww’d again. 

That afternoon was archery which Jaime gave up on fairly quickly. He watched Brienne instead as she took steady aim and fired shot after shot. 

“Can I sit with you?” Pink asked. 

He shifted over on the log to make some room for her, “Not your thing?” 

“Can’t,” she held up her hand which was shaking slightly. “I’ve got ulnar nerve palsy. I can use it for longer stretches, but I pay for it later. Swords took it out of me. I've got a surgery scheduled in a few weeks that's supposed to fix it.” 

“Bullet wound,” he paused then turned his palm over. He rarely looked at the scarring himself and there wasn’t as much to see now except for how the fingers curled and stiffened against his will. 

“Gross,” she said with a grin. “If we’re both sitting out, it’ll just look like we’re the cool kids.” 

“I’m not a kid,” he pointed out. 

“That’s okay, neither am I. You want an apple?” She pulled two out of her deep pockets. 

Pink was actually called Jemma and she had very firm opinions about fruit that Jaime had never previously considered, 

“Blueberries are by far the worst berry,” she explained vehemently, “we have to be tricked into eating them by calling them superfoods. They have an extremely unpleasant squish and almost no taste.” 

“I usually just put them in my cereal. For texture?” 

“Cut up some strawberries or sink some raspberries in that shit,” she shook her head. 

“I think we have blackberry bushes somewhere,” he looked up to see Brienne approaching, “Wife! Do we have blackberry bushes?” 

“Please don’t eat the pokeberries, Jaime,” she huffed. “They’re poisonous and not blackberries. We’ve been over this.” 

“How do you know?” he poked her in the thigh when she got close enough. “You’re not a plant scientist.” 

“Botanist,” Jenna supplied. 

“One of those,” Jamie agreed. 

“Because I grew up around them and my father warned me that they’d make me vomit. Also they look literally nothing like blackberries.” 

“They’re black.” 

“So is licorice and your refuse to eat that.” 

“Black licorice is the worst,” Jenna said. 

“What she said,” Jaime smiled up at her. “I promise not to eat strange berries.”

“Good.” she touched his shoulder once, briefly. 

Tormund attempted to sit with them at dinner, but the Colorguard had swollen their ranks once more and there was no obvious place for him to set down his plate. Brienne seemed oblivious to his interest, so Jaime said nothing and encouraged Jenna to repeat her vehement tirade against purple grapes. 

When they settled in for the night, Brienne put her hand on his wrist, fingers encircling it. 

“I’m glad you made a friend.” 

“Who?” he stared into her eyes glittering in the dark. 

“Jenna. The fruit girl.” 

“I don’t think she’s a friend, we just chatted to pass the time.” 

She nodded, “I know. You think it’s supposed to be something else. Something bigger, but sometimes it’s just someone who makes you laugh about fruit.” 

They had a different instructor the next morning, a man that moved fluidly and had an interesting accent. 

“Syrio,” he bowed to them. “Today we dance.” 

The swords Syrio brought with him were the kind Jaime has seen in his prep school. Thin metal foils with a blunt tip. But he made them run drills first and it was good to get a proper warm up. Maybe they should wake up early and find a trail to run tomorrow, he considered. 

Brienne clearly did not like the lighter blade nearly as much, but she gamely followed direction and their sparring was far less exciting. 

“Switch up?” Orange asked, looking hopefully at Brienne. Jenna was standing behind her. 

Jaime considered saying no on principle. But he thought about how much Brienne had approved of his almost non-existent efforts. He asked her wordlessly what she wanted and she nodded. 

“All right,” he stepped up to Jenna. “Show me what you have.” 

She was fast on her feet, but not particularly coordinated. He probably could’ve scored a half-dozen points on her in the first two minutes alone. 

“You have to twist more at the waist,” he advised. “Make the area I can hit you smaller.” 

“Exactly!” Syrio waltzed by and onto the next group. 

“I hope we get Tormund back tomorrow,” Jenna muttered. “That guy is just unsettling.” 

“I...yeah,” Jaime watched him correct someone else’s grip and mutter something about death. “You’re not wrong.” 

After lunch, Jaime drew Brienne aside, “Want to ditch class and go to the hot springs?” 

“We can do that?” 

“We’re paying them, wife. We can do whatever we want.” 

It was a short hike, but well worth it when they found the deep bubbling pools entirely empty. Jaime slid in with a groan, straight up to his chin. Brienne got in more cautiously, settling next to him, her pale skin pinking up with the heat. But at last she was there, settled in beside him. 

“You know, I think I’d like to marry you again.” 

“There’s no need,” she smiled his absolute favorite smile, the one where she didn’t care or think about it. The one that made her face transform like a magic trick into something radiantly beautiful. “The vows are forever.” 

“Still,” he caught her hand in his, “repeating things never hurts. I love you, Brienne.” 

“I love you too,” she squeezed his hand. 

“Think anyone would notice if had sex in this hot spring?” 

“I would,” she snorted. “And no.” 

“Damn. I guess we’ll just have to enjoy nature.” 

They looked out over the trees, listened to bird song for a good long while. 

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if anyone sees us, I’m hiding in the cabin for the rest of the trip.” 

Jaime complimented himself with his own genius on choice of trip locations for the rest of the day. 

Myrcella called that night just after dinner, 

“Hey,” he picked up immediately, “how’s my girl?” 

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re probably having fun right now,” she sniffled. 

“No, no, hey,” he mouthed ‘Cella’ to Brienne and walked away from the brisk game of charades. “I have time. What’s up?” 

“It’s nothing. It’s stupid,” she sounded a little muffled and he could picture her in one of the confection-like beds of the Highgarden guest rooms with her face half-turned into her pillow. 

“I like stupid things,” he said, then winced. That probably could’ve been phrased better. “What’s wrong?” 

“I-I’m kind of homesick,” she admitted, very quietly. “I miss my own bed and my own stuff. It’s just a few days.” 

“You know it’s okay to miss home,” he sat down at one of the picnic tables away from the crowd. “We’ll be back in two more nights.” 

“But-” she stopped, then swallowed hard. “That’s what’s so...so. I don’t know. It’s just that I realized that I think of Brienne’s house as home now and it’s not, but it is...” 

“I understand that,” he said heavily. “The Rock was my home too for a long time. It’s hard to move that place in your head.” 

“I thought you’d say something like home is where the heart is or something.” 

“Your heart can be in more than one place,” it could be in a cell a thousand miles away and a hundred feet to the left for instance, “and you can miss something that isn’t there anymore.” 

“I miss Mom a lot right now,” she stifled a sob. “Not like...not like mom now, but when I was little and she’d rock me to sleep. Or brush my hair.” 

“Mercy-mine,” he said helplessly, “I know. I know. She still loves you, you know that right?” 

“I know,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to have fun and I am having a really good time, I promise. Margaery is really funny and Loras asked me to help pick out things for the room for the girls. They’ll be here in a few months. And I text Tommen every day, but he’s having a good time, I think.” 

“You matter too,” he stared down at the scarred wood, a place where someone had carved something illegible by moonlight. “I want you to be happy.” 

“I am,” she blew her nose like thunder in her ear, “I just have a lot of feelings.” 

A warm hand cupped his shoulder, he leaned back against Brienne. 

“I think that’s a good thing, Mercy-mine,” he closed his eyes, “I think you’re going to do a lot of good things with all of that feeling one day.” 

They talked for a few more minutes until Brienne held out her hand in a question. 

“Do you want to talk to Brienne for a minute?” 

“Okay,” she sniffled. He handed the phone up to her. 

“Hi-no, no, it’s fine. Yes, the fencing is interesting, I’ll show you some footwork when we get home...uh huh, yes Tommen said- No, of course,” she ran her other hand over Jaime’s head. “Before you go, I took a chance that you might want something from home and tucked it in front of your suitcase, if you want it....” 

Jaime heard the cry of delight.

“Don’t worry about that,” Brienne said to whatever comment came next. “If they tease you, remind them that I know a certain person that slept with their stuffed deer through college. And if you tell Margaery that you’re sad, she’ll panic and feed you the good cookies. 

“All right...all right, good night.” She handed the phone back to Jaime. 

“See, you should’ve just called her,” he joked. 

“No way,” Myrcella did sound better, “you helped more. But I am really glad she packed Simba.” 

“Me too,” he breathed out. 

“I’m going to go find Margaery. I think made her worry a little. Have a good night! Love you.” 

“Love you too,” he said to the dead line. 

Brienne squeezed his shoulder, “Why don’t we call Tommen?” 

“Good idea,” he breathed out shakily. 

Tyrion picked up in seconds, “Sorry, the boys abandoned their phones. Tysha gave Rowan a huge bin of his old lego to bring up and they’re building something enormous. I’m not sure where it’s going to live when it’s done. I might have to build some shelving into the kitchen.” 

“Is he having too much fun to talk?” Jaime asked. 

“Let me check,” Tyrion muffled the phone with a hand. 

“Uncle Jaime!” Tommen crowed over the line, “We’re making something!” 

“I heard, what you are you making?” 

“I can’t tell you until it’s done,” Tommen said gravely. “Rowan says if you tell then it’s harder to make changes. But Uncle Tyrion said he’d said you a photo when we finish, is that ok?” 

“That sounds great, buddy. You having a good time?” 

“Yeah! Uncle Tyrion came with me to volunteer at the shelter today and he said he might get a snake. There’s a really nice one that got abandoned and she’s been there forever and ever because she’s not as pretty as the other ones.” 

“Did you explain that to Uncle Tyrion?” 

“Uh huh,” Tommen plowed on, “so he said he’d think about it. But people always say that at the shelter than take someone home.” 

“Do you want a snake?” Jaime asked carefully, already envisioning that squirmming horror of a feeding job.

“No way! I want a llama!” 

“You can’t have a llama. Not until you’re an adult with your own yard.” 

“Okay!” Tommen said cheerily. “Then I want another cat.” 

“No,” he said less certainly, Brinne was shaking a little behind him. “We’re going to become Those People with Too Many Cats.” 

“Those are the best kinds of people,” Tommen snorted. “Oh! Rowan said he can make popcorn on the stovetop. Gotta go!” 

“Put Tyrion back on the phone, please. Be safe, have fun.” 

“I’m not getting a snake,” Tyrion said as soon as he had retrieved the phone. Tommen had a bad habit of trying to throw things at people and his aim was terrible. 

“Apparently that’s what people who are getting snakes would say.” 

“I was humoring him.” 

“Mm,” Jaime looked up at Brienne who had her hand over her mouth to suppress her laugh. “That’s nice and all, but I bet you before we get back you have a snake.” 

“I’m not getting a snake. I am most definitely not getting a snake within forty-eight hours.” 

“Of course not. Call us if anything comes up.” 

“Tell Brienne that the customers think Podrick is too adorable to bartend and they miss her.” 

“Will do.” 

They did go for a long trail run the next morning, the packed dirt an interesting change. The first time they’d run together and really challenged each other was still one of his top erotic memories. He’d never mentioned that to her, wasn’t sure she’d believe him if he did, but it was true.  
Tormund was their instructor again and he started heaping praise on Brienne almost immediately. She took it with a nod, though she was starting to give him suspicious looks. Jaime for his part, just smiled a hair to wide at the man. 

“I can’t believe he keeps hitting on her,” Jenna hissed. “It’s so awkward!” 

“I know,” Jaime whispered back. “His technique is awful!” 

“Shouldn’t you be charging to the rescue?” 

“No way. She’d be more mad at me than him.” 

The motherly woman didn’t join them for lunch which left just enough space for Tormund to sit on the end of the bench across from Brienne. She gave him her attention, asking mostly technical questions. 

“I can wait for the trebuchet building workshop this afternoon,” Orange announced, breaking the silence for the rest of the table. “I built one out of popsicle sticks when I was kid to launch pennies at my brother.” 

“Did it work?” Jenna asked. 

“Sort of. I almost took my own eye out, so mom trashed it. I was mad for weeks.” 

“It sounded more like arts and crafts to me,” Jaime weighed in, deciding he was better off not listening. 

“Bite your tongue!” Orange glared at him. “Siege weaponry was a game changer in warfare.” 

“But probably not at 1/8th scale.” 

“I know, that’s why I’m going to build a full size one for the pumpkin launching competition next year.” 

“You launch pumpkins, why?” 

“Okay, you have to see the videos to get how awesome this is,” 

He was midway through watching the second video on Orange phone as she rapidly explained how the mechanics work when Brienne’s hand landed on his thigh, 

“Thank you,” she was saying mildly. “But I’m married.” 

“Not an open one?” Tormund glanced at Jaime speculatively. “He’s pretty enough, he can come to.” 

“Ah!” Jenna shrieked, “A wasp!” 

She was pointing at empty air, but it hardly mattered. Everyone jumped away screaming and flapping at the air. When everyone settled again, Jenna gave him a discreet wink. Maybe there was something to this whole friendship thing. 

Brienne said something quietly to Tormund and the man nodded, getting up and leaving. 

“Okay?” He checked. 

“Fine,” she sighed. “He’s a nice man. I just said I was flattered, but we’re monogamous and he gave me his number in case we ever change our minds.” 

“You should hold on to that,” he teased gently. “It’s good to have options.” 

She rolled her eyes, “Get a move on, Mr. Lannister. I want to build a trebuchet.” 

Trebuchet building was in a room that looked suspiciously like an arts and crafts studio. Their materials proved to be popsicle sticks, rubber bands, and a few small rocks. 

He picked up one stick and looked at Orange, 

“How is this not arts and crafts?” 

“I think you should examine your internal prejudices against crafts,” Orange picked up a bottle of glue. “Or there’s no way you’re going to beat my distance.” 

The problem was that Jaime had never gone to a school that favored a popsicle stick approach. There had been a lot of rigor and not a lot of time to peel glue off your fingers. 

“I think these directions are wrong,” he groused. 

Brienne showed him her left hand, a broken popsicle stick clung forlornly to one finger, “My glue bottle had a clog.” 

“Work together?” 

They pooled their supplies and started over. Brienne read the instructions, he laid out the materials, then she braced the structure so he could use his good hand to place them. 

“Guess I should be used to doing one man projects with a second pair of hands,” he muttered. 

“Jaime,” she elbowed him. “Just look around.” 

He glanced up and saw that the Colorguard had grouped together as had the twiggy men. Almost no one was trying to do the project alone. 

“I’m probably supposed to draw a lesson from this, aren’t I?” 

“I’d prefer if you put the rubberband where I asked instead of looking for morals.”

They took their creations outside and took turns launching pebbles with a giggling Blue running to find them and mark the places they landed with colored chalk. 

They didn’t win. The Colorguard’s massive conflagration took a perfectly round rock and sent it flying with an enviable perfect arch. 

“We’re still the best at swords though,” Brienne said quietly, almost to herself. So Jaime didn’t feel too bad about being a competitive asshole that wanted to sulk about it. 

Their calls with the kids that night were briefer, everyone seemingly content. Tommen had visited the horse rescue bite-free and startlingly also free of the desire to have a horse. 

“Do you think I’m doing okay?” Brienne asked when he ended the call. 

“Okay at what?” 

“I don’t know. This whole- I guess stepmother thing. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“Neither do I,” he sighed. “But they seem all right. No one’s trying to kill each other.” 

“That’s a low bar.”

“It’s better than my father managed to do.” 

“Your father-” 

“Cersei tried to smother Tyrion once,” it came out quickly, unbidden, but once he said it, he wondered how long it had been at the back of his throat. 

He’d been the one to catch her, to draw her away from the cradle. Both of them were too young to really understand how death worked, why their mother had been there and then not. They’d both been grieving, but Jaime tended to turn those feelings in. Cersei always threw them out into the world. 

“Does he know that?” 

“Not about how close she came. She’d tell him later that she could’ve, that she might’ve,” he shook his head. “He knows what she thought of him.” 

“You told someone else though? An adult?” 

“There was just a nanny and she already hated Cersei. I was worried that they’d send her away if I told. Mom had only been dead a few months...” 

“Have you ever told anyone?” 

“Why would I?” He tried a smile, but it came out all wrong. “It wouldn’t change anything.” 

“You don’t think that might’ve been a little traumatic?” 

He took the memory out, walking in on the scene. He couldn’t remember how he felt at all, just saw the cool dispassion of a very young Cersei with a pillow and Tyrion’s tiny feet. He couldn’t remember how it felt, but now the scene filled him with a deep horror. 

“Maybe,” he swallowed. “Maybe a little.” 

“I think maybe it might be time to see a therapist.” 

“Only if you go too.” 

He almost protested, but the scene played out again and again. 

“All right,” he reached for her hand. “All right. But we were talking about you.” 

“Suddenly I feel far more qualified,” she said dryly. 

“You know between the two of us, we only had one living, good parent,” he ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Tommen and Myrcella have three. If you count Cersei.” 

“I think we have to,” she sounded even less pleased about than she might usually. 

“And they’ve got an uncle that’s probably going to guilt buy a snake. And all these friends that you gave them. Thanks to you, they’ve got more support than the two of us had combined and tripled. They’ll be okay.”  
They didn’t sleep easy that night, but they were in synch at least, waking and talking over inconsequential things before dozing off again. 

“Last full day,” he realized when they got up for good with the sun.

“It’s been great,” she leaned in and kissed him. “Thank you.” 

“Even with last night?” 

“Why not?” she pressed her forehead to his, “Good doesn’t always mean easy.” 

His hand was cramping a little with fatigue and Syrio was back. He almost fought through it, but Jenna came up and gave him a friendly shoulder check. 

“We went for a drive last night and found a farmer’s stand. Want to sit and heckle with me? I’ve got plums.” 

So he ate fresh plums and watched Brienne be awesome. Syrio came to a stop before them, 

“The price of sitting out is a plum,” he said rather than scolding them. Jenna narrowed her eyes, but produced one and set it into his palm. 

“Excellent, thank you,” he whirled off again, picked up his own sharp blade and started cutting off thin slices of plum with it. 

“Just like really weird,” Jenna repeated. 

“Part time assassin?”

“Can you assasin part time?” She frowned. “Seems like a full time job.” 

That afternoon was maces. Though they were more like blobs of foam attached to a stick with yarn. Tormund was enthusiastically beating a piece of wood carved like a shield attached to a straw man. 

“Hm,” Brienne studied the scene. 

“I packed us a bottle of champagne. How about instead of this we do some day-drinking until you think wearing the silk stuffed at the bottom of your suitcase is a good idea?” 

She turned on her heel and headed back to the cabin. It really had been a very good week. Even if he did wind up wearing more silk than she did. 

That night’s activity was a sing along. When he tried to leave, Jenna sat on his foot. 

“I-what?” 

“Nope, togetherness time. We’re all going to say goodbye tomorrow and probably never see each other ever again, so we enjoy that for one more night.” 

He sat. There was singing. He did not participate and Brienne was mostly humming in a charmingly offkey way. The Colorguard got up and started dancing at some point, their shadows making wild shapes on the other side of the fire. 

“Thanks for staying,” Jenna crashed into him, eyes bright as things started winding down. “It’s been fun.” 

“You should exchange numbers,” Brienne leaned in. “We can have a group chat to prepare for next year.” 

“Next year?” 

“We’ll come back,” she nodded. “For our one year anniversary. Make it a tradition.” 

Traditions had generally meant getting dressed in stiff clothing and not talking at family dinners for holidays. This sounded far better. 

“That’s great!” Jenna was already taking out her phone. “I’ll tell Debany and Taylor.” 

“Who?” 

“Orange and Blue,” Brienne supplied. “We should just call the group text the Colorguard.” 

“Did you just call us by our hair colors all week?” Jenna asked eyes wide. 

“I learned your name!” He protested. 

“That’s hilarious. You’re really bad at this. Okay, Colorguard it is, I kind of like that.” 

She added Brienne too, but as it turned out it would mostly be Jaime speaking for them over the course of the year. And mostly Jenna speaking for the girls. He wondered if Brienne had intentionally tricked him into having a friend. 

After the sing along, everyone was reluctant to go and a few bottles of beer appeared, getting a pleasant buzz going. Between that and the rough night before, Jaime fell asleep quickly. The morning was packing up and a last quick dip in the hot springs. Brienne took the wheel for the way home. 

They picked up Myrcella first, who ran from the front door to embrace him. He held her tight, glad she was holding him just as hard so it looked like he was comforting her and not the other way around. 

“She has a new suitcase,” Margaery was telling Brienne a few feet away. “We had everything washed and folded last night, easy unpacking. Did you have fun?” 

“It was amazing.” 

They piled back into the car and headed across the city to the bar. Brienne went in through the back and they followed her up the stairs. She was calling for Tyrion halfway up, a habit she seemed to have formed from loud nights at the bar. 

“Door’s open!” he called back. 

They wandered into the book crammed parlor to find the couch pushed back and lego castle so enormous that Tommen was teetering on his tiptoes to place a little night on one of the turrets. Rowan was laid out on the floor, placing tiny lego flowers around the gate. 

“Uncle Jaime!” Tommen cried, “Come look!” 

“Wow,” he put a hand on Tommen’s shoulder, “this is really something. I thought Rowan only brought a bin of lego.” 

“Big bin,” Rowan said into the carpet, “mom used to buy it up from garage sales for me.” 

“I don’t think that can fit through the front door,” Brienne said approvingly. “Is it a permanent installation?” 

“I’ve been assured that the walls come apart in sections and can be stored neatly in my crawl space for next time,” Tyrion eyed it dubiously. 

“So that Slithers can play with it with us!” Tommen crowed. 

“And who,” Jamie asked gleefully, “is Slithers?” 

Tyrion held out his arm. Coiled around his arm was a small sleeping snake. 

“Don’t say it.” 

 

“This was the best honeymoon I could’ve hoped for.” 

“Is that a snake?” Myrcella took a step closer, leaning over. “Oh, hello pretty!” 

“Do you like her?” Tyrion asked her, but looked straight at Jaime. “Tommen said you might.” 

“I love her!” 

“Here, hold out you hand.” She did eagerly than made a soft sound of delight as the snake tasted the air around her, found it agreeable and moved onto Myrcella’s palm. “I think you’ve found a friend.” 

“No,” Jaime mouthed at him over Myrcella’s head. 

“Oh yes,” Tyrion rocked back on his heels, “we got her for you. Tommen picked out the habitat, he seems to know how to lay it out. And I’ve got a bag of crickets for her dinner.” 

“Isn’t she great, Dad?” Myrcella held the snake up for Jaime to look on. “It’s okay, right?” 

“Of course,” he caved immedaly, staring at the beady eyed thing. 

“Thank you!” 

“Oh no, thank your Uncle Tyrion,” he said through gritted teeth. “While you still can.” 

“Thanks, Uncle Tyrion! Tommen, thank you too!” 

The kids talked rapidly, Rowan weighing in on snake care. 

“It really was the intention all along,” Tyrion offered when it was clear they weren’t listening. “Tommen wanted it to be a surprise. She’ll take good care of it on her own.” 

“Probably,” he exhaled through his nose. He reached out and ruffled Tyrion’s hair. 

“AH!” he bat at his hands, “I’m an adult, for gods’ sake!” 

“But you’re my little brother for life,” Jaime sat down on the couch where Brienne had settled in to watch the show. “I don’t make the rules.” 

“They’re bad rules,” Tyrion fixed his hair. “I’m glad you two enjoyed yourselves though. Even if it only increases your obnoxious factor.” 

That night they were all under one roof again, their number increased by one small snake and several suitcases. The house felt full and warm. Maybe now, it wasn’t truly the Tarth house anymore. Maybe it was just a home.


End file.
